


Tight Space

by Cerfblanc



Series: Teen Sam & Nathan [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Brothers, Intense Kissing, M/M, Tension, Underage - Freeform, Underage Kissing, small spaces, sweating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc
Summary: Sam has always been able to contain his fright, however his little brother needs 'loving' assurance when it comes to things like hiding in the top of one of the Twin Towers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot was inspired by The Walk 2015 film, [starring Joseph-Gordon Levitt etc] Jeff and Philippe scene.

_Sam_

~

I could see the blooming fear in his eyes when we both heard the slow, faint and somewhat deluding footsteps of the security guard.

He'd only came into the floor five minutes ago, and I could feel the deafening silence eat it's way into my mind, the only thing accompanying that silence were those heavy steps against the smooth, solid floor, echoing.

_Echoing. Echoing. And echoing._

I peered across to Nathan who was sat in front of me.

Sweat had beaded at his forehead, and was slowly making its way down to his throat and neck. His eyes were wide, bright and alert in terror, and his lips were parted, opening a little wider ever so slightly each second he took in a silent, trembling breath.

I swallowed inaudibly, not breaking our intimate gaze.

He blinked twice.

I blinked once.

The footsteps were getting closer. They were stopping — then starting. _Constantly._

Nathan's brow twitches inwards, the terror still written on his face, but then, very slowly, screwed up with physical discomfort. He shifts slightly on the metal beam were sat on, directly and very closely opposite each other. His hands grip on in front of him, and I do the same, feeling the same hurt as we both glance down at our dangling legs, eyeing our footwear.

Our heavy construction boots were killing our feet, and it was hard not to shift on a beam that we could fall off of just by losing the slightest balance.

So, I silently decided to fix that problem.

I reached down my right hand, to his left covered foot, and gently pulled it up with care, making sure not to make him panic about with what I was doing.

He sent me a decisive look, still terrified with the situation—

—but when I came back to see that horrified glint in his eyes I noticed something even more frightening.

The footsteps had stopped.

This time Nathan gulped.

I didn't look at him, or stop with what I was doing to concentrate on our surroundings in that moment, and continued to unlace his left boot, my fingers beginning to tremble with the sudden thoughts and images of death and doubt.

I forced them out.

When I glanced my eyes up to see his petit, youthful face he was sweating even more now. Not because of the unbelievable tension we were both experiencing, but the incredibly tight, heated and clammy space we were both balancing ourselves in. His hazel locks were practically sticking to his forehead now. The same went for myself, although, my hair was somewhat shorter than my brother's, and I wasn't as scared as he was.

I was more driven with a _thrilling_ sort of excitement that sent my mind whirling in circles.

I could've grinned at this point because of the stupid thought, but with watching the state of my little brother brought my nerves back into reality.

I pulled off his left boot.

And received a silent cry of relief.

Nathan looked at me, with a blink, almost panting in the tight space as he swallowed. His sweat trickled down his temple, and his eyes hooded over slightly.

He then reached down to my right leg, his small hand grasping the toe of my boot, and he began to gingerly do the same process in return.

Minutes passed in that deafening silence, the footsteps seeming to have gone to sleep, and we didn't look at each other as we unlaced each other's shoes and tied the ends of them together and rested them around the backs of our necks.

When Nathan had pulled off my left, I felt his little fingers press against the ball of my foot, and for the first time in at least an hour (still sitting on a fucking beam) I reacted rather genuinely.

With genuine _pain._

He blinked, his eyes widening a little as he quickly pulled his hand away, and he studied the face of his index finger before showing me whatever it was.

_Blood._

A smear of deep, iconic red was printed on the face of his finger.

I didn't blink as I averted my gaze back to him. Back to those now not-so-frightened eyes of his, and shook my head. As if to say, 'Don't ask.'

Heck, I could feel the soreness in the place where I was bleeding. It was a faint stinging sensation, a little like a paper cut, but it also felt like it was on fire. Both of my feet did. I began to wonder if Nate felt the same. If he felt the same pain as me — the physical pain, that was.

_Not the painful, sickening thought of getting caught and done by the police and court._

I forced that thought out, too.

A sudden crackling sound then admitted from outside of the fabricated space.

Nathan froze, and I listened.

The guard's communicator, perhaps. If that's there, then he's there too.

Or maybe it's just the badly-fixed power plan they didn't bother fixing in the last year.

There were no sounds of footsteps, or breathing from outside, nothing alive at all, apart from us and our erratic heart beats.

I turned my head back to him.

The expression he wore told me that he was going to stop me from doing whatever risky thing I chose to do next.

I took out a pen, making sure the sharp nib was visible, and I brought it to the canvas fabric that covered us. To make a peephole of some sort to see if we were alone or not.

Nate caught my wrist, stopping me.

I wanted to glare at him, but I knew that would do no good, especially when we were both breathing and sweating in each other's personal space. It would just make things entirely awkward and even more unsettling.

He shook his head at me, at the pen, at the idea, and I pried his hand off my wrist, raising a brow as a response. He shook his head a second time, this time mouthing the words, _'No, Sam,'_ Rather harshly, _'Sammy don't.'_

 _'It's okay.'_ I said back, gritting my teeth afterwards, cocking my head at the poised pen I still held in my grasp — pointing it to the canvas, reading to poke it thoroughly. He was already done with soundlessly arguing with me, so he decided to send pleasing looks of worry and regret that I just couldn't interpret.

_This kid._

I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but I didn't.

_My brother._

But it would've made him tremble even harder.

My _little_ brother.

It would've caused tears to fill the rims of his eyes.

I slowly brought the pen away from the canvas, not giving up on my main goal, but only for second did I try to distract him from stopping me.

I felt the void of what seemed like a never-ending darkness beneath our dangling legs. It was like I could feel it growing bigger and bigger, as if opening its mouth to swallow us whole within seconds.

_Waiting, to eat us._

_Still, no footsteps._

I leant forward, closed my eyes as my mind went blank the second I cupped the side of his face, my lips catching his in a humid, hot, breathless lock of what was meant to be an 'assuring' kiss.

_Oh shit._

My thirteen-year old brother let out an erotically distressing sort of noise from the back of his throat, instinctively raising a shaky hand to grasp onto the front of my top, tilting his head to surprisingly kiss back.

Fuck, I started to laugh in my head when he did this. It all seemed so _comical_ for some reason. We were in serious shit right now, and we were getting our tongues down one another's throats in the midst of it? God, I found it hilariously stressing at the same time as well.

The pen I held between my fingers almost slipped out of my hold when Nate pushed in at me again. I furrowed my brows at the feeling, pursing my lips on the kiss before opening my mouth to let my tongue swerve across his bottom lip, gently sinking my teeth onto it quickly after. He let out the same soft, boyish noise like before. Like a puppy's whine.

Damn, I wanted to groan so badly, let go all of it right then and there but I couldn't allow myself to do so without a real, worthy purpose.

I slipped my thumb between our messily moving mouths as a barrier and boundary, Nathan's tongue brushing the rough skin as I pulled away with a light gasp, his eyes penetrating mine, hard.

His hold on the front of my top loosened, and he reluctantly pulled his hand away. He swallowed, licked his lips at me, and blinked lazily.

With no other reaction or physical gesture, with the pen still in hand I placed it back to the canvas, and poked it gently, twisting and turning it with my two fingers like jiggling a paperclip in a padlock, the rough fabric slowly tearing apart to create a moth-like hole.

Bluish, white light flooded in through the tiny gap, and I blinked at the sight. I moved slowly, blinking again as I squinted into it from a small distance, feeling my pupils decrease into dots.

_No footsteps._

_No guard._

_No nothing._

It was a gut feeling. It was a good gut feeling. It felt okay to feel good about it.

I looked back to Nathan, his eyes calm and fixated, the terror and tension completely gone, and I spoke in a hushed yet clear voice, "Let's go."

 

 


End file.
